


Guardian

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Minor Violence, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for valar_morekinks, prompt requested by riahchan: In which uncle Brandon's ghost haunts those who hurt his niece. Specially Petyr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian

Brandon sighed softly as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, solemnly studying the sleeping figure of his oldest niece. When she began to frown, he frowned in turn, the frown deepening when her face began to twist with discomfort and distress.  
  
There was little he could do to ease her suffering during her waking hours (he was, in fact, expressly forbidden from interfering), but he could provide aid against the monsters haunting her sleep.  
  
He nudged her blankets up over her shoulders, hoping to lessen the inevitable chill his touch left behind, and then gently brushed his fingers against her temple. He could see when the touch took effect, a fine shiver coursing through her as her expression slowly but surely lost its tension, growing peaceful and placid.  
  
Brandon couldn't help but marvel at how much she resembled her mother, couldn't help but contemplate the what-ifs. Would Catelyn still have birthed her if Brandon had lived to sire her children? Would the Tully look have won out against his wild wolf blood? Would anyone be who they were if he'd been their father?  
  
_It doesn't matter,_ he decided. Ned and Cat's brood were what mattered. With Ned helping Cat to reacclimate to the afterlife and trying to draw their Arya out of her attempts to become "No One", Robb diligently keeping an eye on his brothers, and Lyanna refusing to leave her son's side, it fell to Brandon to watch over young Sansa. He'd grown used to feeling helpless, raging and screaming against her tormentors and the old gods alike over his inablity to interfere.  
  
With another sigh, Brandon smiled wanly, leaning down with the intention of pressing a kiss to his niece's brow and leaving her to her slumber. He froze when she turned her head, baring her opposite cheek to his view...a cheek carrying the distinct shadow of a palm-shaped bruise.  
  
Within the blink of the eye, he was no longer in Sansa's bedchamber but the Eyrie's godwood, kneeling before the weeping woman standing in place of the weirwood.  
  
"Please."  
  
xx

Petyr Baelish froze as he felt himself be enveloped in a sudden cold, a chill running down his spine as the hair on the back of his neck rose up. The papers on his desk scattered, thick ledgers lifting into thin air and hurtling across the room.  
  
He barely had time to duck out of the way for the first, and second, but the next three hit him in the head, the back and his stomach, crumpling him over in half as he clutched at his middle. An icy grip banded around his neck, a harsh sensation like fingers tightening like a noose around his throat.  
  
"Long time no see, Littlefinger. I think it's time we were reacquainted."


End file.
